Natural Talent
by ForeverSirius77
Summary: James Potter knew he was good he knew he had talent. And this year, everyone else in Hogwarts would know it, too. [Originally written for Gryffindor House Collaboration on MNFF.]


**_Disclaimer_**_: Anything you recognise does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm just playing with her creations for the time being. However, anything you do not recognise does belong to be._

**_Summary_**: "He rose up and up, higher and higher into the morning sky before angling his broom in a steep dive, only to right it again at the last possible moment. Faster and faster he flew, circling around the goal hoops, soaring over the stands, twisting and turning in midair to dodge invisible Bludgers." _James Potter knew he was good; he knew he had talent. And this year, everyone else in Hogwarts would know it, too._

**_Author's __Note_**_: Well, this was originally written as part of a Gryffindor House collaboration on the MNFF forums. We were each given a quality/characteristic of Gryffindors, and had to write a one-shot showing a character portraying that quality. I was given __**Intelligence/Talent**__, though this story leans more towards 'Talent' than 'Intelligence'. Now, I present for your enjoyment,_ Natural Talent.

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**Natural Talent**

**By ForeverSirius77**

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_The great multitude of contented students remained sitting at their House tables, some eyes fixed upon Dumbledore as the headmaster gave his start-of-term feast, others staring off into space or at the table, their tired minds already up in their beds for the night after having consumed such a scrumptious feast just moments before. Young witches and wizards had filled themselves to fulfilment, and many were only listening half-heartedly to the elder wizard's words. The announcements tended to be the same – or nearly so – every year, after all. So, therefore, most felt that there was not a great deal of need to listen very intently._

_"… wish Professor Broadmoor good luck as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor … And now, Mr Filch tells me that he has added around seventy new items to the list of forbidden things, the entire list of which can be seen outside of his office …_

_"Quidditch tryouts will be held in approximately two weeks' time, and anyone wishing to put their name forth for their House team may do so with their Head of House, who will, in turn, inform team captains –"_

_At the singular word of "Quidditch", several heads in the Great Hall seemed to perk up, their attention raised and returned to the words of their headmaster. Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Slytherins … all four Houses tuned into the information concerning the one thing that just about all of the students, regardless of House, were capable of agreeing on – Quidditch was vastly important to life in general. In fact, as far as many were concerned, it held a spot right up there with oxygen, and the twelve-year-old boy seated with his three friends at the Gryffindor table was one of them._

_James Potter's attention on Dumbledore's speech waned shortly after the headmaster had finished mentioning Quidditch, his own mind returning to its thoughts and dreams of earlier. This year was finally the year, he knew. This year, James was going to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team, an achievement that had been over a decade in the making – or so his parents had always said. "That boy's been flying since he was born," his mother would mutter as he raced out to the backyard for the afternoon, a broomstick clutched in his hand. "We should have never bought that toy broomstick when he was only a year old," issued his father, grinning at Mrs Potter from the dinner table as their son flipped through one of the many books detailing facts of national and international Quidditch teams._

_Flying. Quidditch. Flying. Pranking. Flying. His interests did not vary too much, but it was a good thing, he thought, that he was skilled at all of them, especially at only twelve years old. Everyone who had seen him fly complimented him on his talent, after all, and James had no reason to contradict them or change their opinions of him. He knew he was good, and this year, finally, after a torturous year of waiting (and James was_ still _mumbling about the stupid rule concerning no First Years on the team), everyone at Hogwarts would know it as well._

_Oh, yes. Two weeks could not come soon enough._

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Fourteen days flies by quite quickly when one becomes occupied by other things or is dreading them passing, but for one who is looking forwards to their end, fourteen days might as well be a millennium. Such was, at the very least, how James felt when he headed down to the Quidditch pitch early Saturday morning, two weeks after the start of his second year. The year was already off to a good start, if he said so himself, what with the completion of three pranks, the fact that Snape had ended up in the Hospital Wing once, and he and his friends had _yet_ to be caught for any of the events. Yes, the year was going extremely well thus far, and it was only about to get better.

A sleek Nimbus 1001 over his shoulder, James walked onto the green grass of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, glancing around and taking in its six large hoops and high surrounding stands for the spectators. Seeing the stands, he noted with a great sense of satisfaction that, never again, would he have to stay there simply cheering on the Gryffindor team … He would get to have people cheering _for him._ Smirking, James mounted his broom and took off into the morning skies, intending to get a bit of practice flying in before the tryouts.

It felt like absolute heaven … perfection … completion … whatever one wanted to call it. Though it had only been two weeks since he had flown – Only hours before leaving for King's Cross, his father had found him in the backyard, zooming around on his broom – It still felt like it had been half a lifetime for the black-haired boy since he had soared through the skies. Unable to get out to the grounds to fly before today (The prank that sent Snape to the Hospital had been the focus of _last_ weekend), James had simply been itching to get on his broomstick for a few hours of uninterrupted flying.

The semi-still wind had picked up as he soared around the pitch, causing his hair to blow around on his head. He rose up and up, higher and higher into the morning sky before angling his broom in a steep dive, only to right it again at the last possible moment. Faster and faster he flew, circling around the goal hoops, soaring over the stands, twisting and turning in midair to dodge invisible Bludgers. James flew upwards, downwards, backwards, and forwards. He soared high into the air and plummeted towards the ground. He swerved and he turned; he circled and he looped. Jerking and guiding his broom, he put the new Nimbus through all of its paces, stretching its abilities – and his – as far as they would go during the few hours he had before the rest of the team and other hopefuls arrived.

There was nothing else on his mind, nothing to disrupt his focus. James was in his element while on a broom, and he knew it. It was complete freedom in the air, and the twelve-year-old Gryffindor felt utterly invincible while he had such freedom. Rising and falling, swerving and looping, James flew around and around the pitch, time simply not mattering to him while he was up in the air.

He did not even realise it when he was no longer alone on the grounds. At least, not until a voice called up to him and pierced through the flight-instilled focus in his mind.

"Hey, you!" yelled a voice. "Get down here!"

James suddenly halted in the air, right in the middle of doing a particularly complex dodging move that consisted of multiple twists that he had practiced over the summer, and glanced down below him. A bit of shock fell over his face as he noticed the nearly two dozen students gathered on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, as if they had arrived and had gone no further after spotting him. Noticing the red robes on a few of the students, James realised that it must be time for the Gryffindor tryouts, and he dived skilfully back to the ground, landing without a fault right in front of the group.

"Hello," he said, holding his broom over his shoulder and eyeing the one he thought had called him down from the air. "Is it time for the tryouts already?"

It seemed to take a moment for the larger student – _He looks about a Sixth Year,_ James thought, taking in the boy's tall, yet burly, frame – to regain the power of speech. He was still looking at James as if he had never quite seen anything like him before … but it was not in a bad way. Rather, the person that James knew to be the captain of Gryffindor's team – the badge on the boy's scarlet robes gave such information away – was staring at James with a joyful expression and one that bordered on near-admiration.

"You're here for Gryffindor?" the captain asked, to which James nodded in answer. "Well, I'm Zacharias Parkin, the captain, and we are about ready to start. The rest of the hopefuls are over waiting near the stands – you can go and join them – but first, what's your name, kid?"

"James Potter."

"How long've you been flying, Potter?" said Parkin.

James made an expression of deep thought as he pretended to be counting up many, many years of experience. "Oh, about ten, eleven years or so," he said. He did not wait for Parkin or anyone else to ask him his age or to figure out that he had basically just admitted to flying for his entire life. Rather, he headed over towards the stands where the others were gathered, and waited for the tryouts to actually begin.

"Well, thanks for coming, everyone," said Zacharias as his eyes scanned over the ground. "Today shouldn't be too long, really, because there's only three positions we need people for – There are two openings for Chasers, and we need one Beater. We'll do the Beater position first, so everyone who's trying out for Beater, grab a broom and get in the air. Jackson will unleash a Bludger, and we can see how you do."

Once Parkin had finished, several students rose from the stands and gathered by the brooms, each awaiting his or her turn to attempt to snag the Beater position. James ignored the proceedings for the most part, not really caring as Emmett Rogers pounded the Bludger so hard it soared straight across the pitch or when Edward Butler dropped his Beater's club when he tried hitting the Bludger, sending the bat to hit straight on Rosalie Swan's blonde-haired head with a _bonk._

Eventually, though, the Beater hopefuls had finished, and it was time for the Chasers to take their turn. Instantly, James sat up from where he had semi-fallen asleep in the stands and grabbed his broom, heading to the centre of the pitch where the chest containing the Bludgers, the Quaffle, and the Golden Snitch lay. Parkin held the red Quaffle in his large hands as he surveyed the group of possible Chasers.

"All right," he said, "here's what you have to do. Rosalie and Charles," – He pointed to a small boy who looked to be around thirteen – "who is our Seeker, will act as the other two Chasers while a candidate takes the third position. I'll be playing Keeper, and just try to score as many goals as possible, or at least work with your team mates to score as many as possible, in five minutes." With that, Parkin took off into the air, heading towards a set of hoops, and Charles and Rosalie joined him.

"First up is Potter," exclaimed Parkin, tossing the Quaffle to Rosalie.

James soared instantly into the air, once again feeling completely confident and at home in the skies. Catching the Quaffle that was suddenly thrown his way by Rosalie, he heard Parkin call to him, "Whenever you're ready," before he darted to the right on his broom and hurled the Quaffle into the left hoop, Parkin staring in shock at the right hoop.

"That's one," said James, turning around and waiting for Rosalie and Charles to join him.

The rest of James's tryout went much the same way. Charles and Rosalie scored several goals themselves as James passed the Quaffle off to his team mates when they were in better positions to score than he was. Parkin blocked some of the shots but not others, while James soared and swerved, dived and circled along with Charles and Rosalie, scoring goal after goal. Before he knew it, the five minutes were through, and he was returning to the ground while the next hopeful took to the skies.

It was not long before tryouts had concluded, the team had deliberated, and the results announced. Those who were not lucky enough to make the team this time headed back towards the castle immediately, while the new Beater and Chasers stayed for a moment to meet up with the rest of the team, get their uniforms, and receive information concerning future practices.

When James entered the common room after the tryouts, he noticed his friends over by the fireplace. Sirius glanced up at his friend's entrance.

"How'd you do?" he asked.

James smirked, settled into a seat, and placed his broomstick on the floor.

"What do you think?" he said.

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**_Author's__ Note_**_: Well, there you have it. I originally had another idea for this fic, and it was going to star Sirius, but James insisted that he get a starring role in a story, rather than just the supporting actor to Sirius's main part. As such, this is the first time I've ever written James in a main part (though Sirius still managed to sneak in at the end, of course ;) as there's just no chance of stopping him), so please, let me know what you think._

_Thanks so very much for reading! _

_--ForeverSirius77_


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